Dream A Life Beautiful, Wake And Life Is Duty
by Het Up
Summary: In doing what we ought we deserve no praise, because it is our duty. James Norrington had always thought they were just words, until Will Turner showed him what his duty was.


James Norrington did not have his bearings. He was on an island, not quite a desert island, but an island nonetheless. From the palm trees, singed as they were, he could tell he was back in the Caribbean. Free of compass or sextant, he checked the horizon. There was what appeared to be a hurricane on it, vast and dark, a regular maelstrom. It looked achingly familiar.

Riding the brackish waves were several bits of flotsam and jetsam. They spread out across the sea like the headstones of a floating graveyard. Some had washed ashore and Norrington went to check them. Perhaps they had a compass or a sextant or, better yet, a map. Not that knowing where he was would be much help, but he just _hated_ being lost.

The driftwood were, unerringly, from the portions of ships where the name was written. There were a few names he recognized. Jacob O'Malley, he was a good lad, midshipman. Thomas Finch, another good man although a cheater at cards. Lieutenant Matteson, he'd go far some day. Strange that they'd all had ships named after them so early in their careers. And so unfortunate that those ships had been scuttled.

But there were also ships whose names he didn't recognize. Ships like One-Eyed Pete and Peg-leg Percy and Larry. 

Then he realized, with a sort of wave of horror which washed over him, that it was not destroyed ships he was seeing, but destroyed vessels. Vessels for human souls. Norrington swallowed and looked about, searching for something to fixate on. The palm trees were still burning, although the flames must've run out of fuel long ago.

Now he remembered! He was on that island! That damnable island Elizabeth and Sparrow had been marooned on oh-so-long ago. He had _no_ idea _what_ form of paranormal menace would haul him halfway around the world only to drop him into another man's nightmare, but more fool them! For if he remembered correctly, the hideaway Elizabeth had told him about would be right… about…

Norrington had never much cared for rum. It was a drink of scoundrels and reprobates and, having done time as a scoundrel and reprobate, he ought to know. But any port in a storm, so to speak. His uniform was already in disarray, his shelter was burnt away, his wig was a lost cause (he thought he had spotted in floating out to sea, but it had just been an albatross. A dead albatross), and he might as well see if he could gain any appreciation for the vile drink before rescue or death arrived.

It turned out to be both. Norrington sat up, halfway through his first bottle, to discover a shadow had fallen over him. He had been lying on his back one moment, enjoying the feeling of his own skin roasting in the sun, when there had been a sudden coolness. Even the shadow didn't explain it, because the cold persisted even after he had moved out of the shade. It was as if young mister Turner carried winter in his pockets.

"Do you know where you are?" Will asked. He was standing in the shadow of a ship which had, with just as much noise as its captain (namely: none), moored itself alongside the island, and there was a strange scar on his chest, as if…

James remembered the sword plunging through his chest and abruptly knew _what_ he was. Not alive, certainly.

"This isn't a desert," were the first words out of his mouth. His last words? His first last words? His first words after the last? He remembered saying Elizabeth, or had that been just a dream? She _had_ been the death of him.

"No, it's not." He raised an eyebrow. "Why were you expecting a _desert_, of all places?"

"Elizabeth told me that's what it looked like," James said off-handedly.

Will had a small reaction to that, which James took a measure of satisfaction in. Petty? Extremely so. But when you were deceased and in purgatory, you took your jollies where you could.

"She spoke of the Locker. It's only one of many… destinations." He sounded sure of himself. Much more so in death than in life.

"And my destination?" Norrington asked, dropping the bottle of rum.

"Your crimes are numerous." He was no pirate. His debts would be paid.

"Ah."

"As are your virtues."

"A-ha!" Be he condemned to heaven to Hell or ascended to Heaven, James was determined to be held in full account.

Will sighed, a bit dramatically, as if to say _look, could you imagine how hard this is for me?_ And James really couldn't. He'd been tasked with having men under his command, but their immortal souls? Ferried to and fro like sugar. Besides, his heart was still inside his chest. Not that he'd ever noticed it before, but it was becoming quite the reassuring weight.

"What I'm trying to say is that I could use a man of your caliber on my crew," Will gritted out, not looking up at Norrington until he had completed his sentence.

At long last, Norrington thought to ask the logical question.

"Are you dead?"

Will self-consciously fingered the scar over his heart. "Yes and no. It's complicated."

"Death usually is these days. You know, before I met you I thought death was simple. Either you were or you weren't. Now there are… _destinations_ and return trips, like it's a vacation!"

"I have found it quite relaxing," Will said. Sparrow had rubbed off on him.

"So." Norrington looked around, once more smelling the burning palm trees which should have long since been reduced to cinders. "What is this little vacation spot?"

"Uncharted territories." Will answered from the bow of his ship. The Dutchman. James hadn't recognized it at first. "Not that I'm privy to it – I never travel _that_ far downriver – but I suspect there is a fair amount of debate as to where you should end up. Are you a good man who erred or a bad man who triumphed?"

James sniffed. "I believe our actions determine our morality."

"So you see the problem," Will shot back. "Regardless, my offer stands. I don't know what appeal the sea has to you, Commodore, but I give you the chance to meet it once more."

"Actually, it's Admiral now," James noted, lost in thought.

"Congratulations. You'd better hurry, They've near made up Their minds."

"They've been listening in on us?"

"Oh, They take everything into account." Will smiled grimly and tossed a rope down. "It's all very fair, which is always the most unfair thing of all where we're concerned."

Norrington considered that. "Hang their decision. I'll decide for myself when I've made amends and depart no sooner."

He grabbed hold of the rope and suddenly found his hand clasped in Turner's. He was pulled over the railing.

"Welcome aboard, Mr. Norrington," Will said, friendly enough.

"Glad to be aboard, Mr. Turner." And he was. He didn't deserve Heaven and he wasn't fit for Hell, but this… this he could deserve. Duty. His, beautiful and fair.

"Actually, it's Captain now."


End file.
